Recently my Dad experienced
a brain issue and was hospitalized for a few days. I had the opportunity to leave work to be with
him at the hospital. After his minor
brain surgery (if you can call a brain surgery minor), I was spending the day with
him and my mother in his neuro intensive care hospital room. Because it was an intensive care unit, a
parade of doctors and nurses attended to him regularly. He was doing very well, but they do not put
anyone on autopilot in intensive care. At
some point during this parade of health care professionals, a resident neurosurgeon
arrived in his room to check on his progress.
The resident neurosurgeon had assisted with my Dad’s surgery the
previous day and was stopping by to check on him. When he entered the room, he greeted my Dad,
who in turn introduced me to the doctor.
My parents often introduce
me to strangers as; “This is my daughter, Julie, she is a veterinarian.” The doctor showed some polite interest in my
profession because he is a dog owner. He asked me about my job – how did I like
it - and then about how I thought my Dad was doing today. I told him that I loved my job on most days and
that my Dad seemed to be doing remarkably well after what he had been through
the day before. I then shared that my
Mom and I were a little embarrassed that we didn’t pick up on my Dad’s symptoms
earlier and get him to the hospital. I
felt that we should have known that something was not right sooner than we
did. My Dad had been showing some insidious
symptoms for the past few days and none of us picked them up. I was particularly embarrassed that I didn’t
see it earlier.
The neurosurgeon laughed
and said, “Let me tell you a story.” He preceded
to tell me that he has a middle-aged dog that sometime last summer started
drinking more than usual. She was losing
weight and passing some urine that seemed a little sticky and strange. He told
me that it went on for weeks with his dog drinking and urinating more and
dropping weight. He really did not know
what was wrong with her. The dog had a huge appetite for water, but he just kept
thinking that the water drinking “was because it was hot outside and the dog was
drinking due to the heat”. He said he finally decided to take the dog
into the veterinary hospital to attempt to diagnose her problem.
As soon as the veterinarian
heard the symptoms and looked at the neurosurgeon’s dog, she told him that the
dog may have diabetes. As the veterinarian
left the room to get her technician to draw the pet’s blood, the neurosurgeon said
he sheepishly removed the hospital credentials - clipped to his scrub pocket identifying
him as a neurosurgeon - and slowly hid them in his pants pocket. He could not believe that he didn’t think of
diabetes. He did not want the
veterinarian to know that he was a physician and he was quite embarrassed.
He told me, “Do not feel bad
about not diagnosing your father’s condition because I couldn’t diagnose my dog’s
diabetes.” He said, “I will take care of
your father’s brain and you can take care of my dog’s diabetes.” I laughed and told him that I appreciated his
story because it did indeed make me feel better about my lack of knowledge when
it came to my Dad.
By the way, I also had
another neurosurgeon at the hospital tell me that he always wanted to be a
veterinarian. So, when you start
doubting yourself and feel as if your job is not all that important, remember
that you may be smarter than a neurosurgeon.
"I cannot do
everything, but I can do something. I must not fail to do the something that I
can do." - Helen Keller
Dr. Julie Cappel
